


Happy Meal

by Hambone



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Insomnia, Lies and Confusion, M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hambone/pseuds/Hambone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating is complicated enough already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Meal

**Author's Note:**

> It's been entirely too long since I've posted something! Shame on me. To be fair, it's a big crazy world out there and I've been all wrapped up in it.   
> This is just a little short idea that I've been playing with for a while. I feel like it could easily be expanded on but that's something for another day. Enjoy!

“You turned in three copies of the same file.”

Looking up from his console, Blurr frowned.

“The Broadsides case. You gave me the report three times.”

Cliffjumper thrust a fat data pad into his face, clearly displaying the open files, all labeled under different serial numbers but indisputably the same content. Blurr reset his vocalizer, disengaging the auxiliary cables forming a hardline between an open panel of his cranial casing and his desktop monitor.

“I’m sorry I must have been distracted, it _has_ been a rather long week for everyone here what with the Frontload shootings at the upper third quarter Towers…” he paused, Cliffjumper’s already harsh expression slowly pinching its way into a truly black glower. Unable to match his intensity, Blurr looked away, opening his palms placating.

“I know you hate misfiled desk work, I know, it won’t happen again.”

“You say that to me about once a week.”

He was successful in keeping his posture, but his generally stiff resolve wilted at the words.

“I really am sorry, Cliffjumper, you know I’m not intentionally trying to make your job more difficult for you but I really have been distracted, I mean, tired, my recharge cycles haven’t been regular and I can tell you really don’t want to hear my excuses but what else am I supposed to say?”

The silence that stretched between them lasted mere nano-kliks, but to Blurr it was an eternity. Finally, Cliffjumper dropped his defensive stance, uncrossing his arms with a hot snort.

“I guess there’s not really anything I can do about it anyways.”

Blurr straightened a little.

“Technically you could report me to my commanding officer and get me put on the three-strike work-track-” Cliffjumper shot him a look, “-but I suppose none of that is really necessary so I’ll just be shutting up now.”

He hunched back down, quickly reconnecting into his computer and resuming his furious typing. Cliffjumper remained a moment, ventilating slowly as if attempting to calm himself. He turned towards the cubicle’s exit, making it as far as two paces before again pausing. Hoping to avoid further beratement, Blurr pretended not to notice.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with him, right?”

“What?” Blurr did not look at him, fingers still rushing across the keyboard.

“Longarm Prime.” Cliffjumper had stopped just in the threshold, only half turned back into the room. His voice was hard, as always, but Blurr recognized the telltale nervous twitch of his servos. He wheezed a loud, surprised note, accidentally typing a long stream of gibberish into his report. Turning fully back into the room, Cliffjumper watched him correct his mistake.

“I don’t know exactly to what you are referring, that is to say, I don’t know what you mean by that comment…” Blurr wouldn’t look at him, feigning casual in a way that only showed to someone familiar with him. He was good at lying, as per the requirements of his position, but the fact remained that he was talking to an acquaintance, not a stranger, and Cliffjumper was smart enough to know that Blurr was never _casual_. 

“It’s not a secret that you two are close.”

This time moving with slow, meticulous care, Blurr fully wrote out the sentence he had originally intended before turning to meet his gaze.

“I’m going out on a wire here so excuse me if I look stupid in just a moment but I have to be clear on this: are you implying that Longarm Prime is in some way connected to my inability to properly defragment?”

Cliffjumper was unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning upwards.

“One way or another.”

They stared at each other.

“I’ve been busy. With work.”

Blurr spoke slowly, the effort almost slurring his words. He held Cliffjumper’s optics steadily.

The air in the cubicle felt oddly cold.

“You’re right, we all have.” Relaxing slightly, Cliffjumper turned again, hand finding the door jamb and steadying himself on it. He looked back down to his data pad, scrolling a bit with his unoccupied thumb. Blurr tried not to show how relieved he was.

“Again, I really am sorry about the files, Cliffjumper, I really do mean that and I will try to resolve the concentration issue. I think I can persuade Perceptor to let me try his temporary coding patch set, even though he’s denied me before, because the issue wasn’t serious enough then, but now that it’s affecting my work it’s possible that I will be able to slide past the regulations. Longarm Prime can refer me maybe if you really do report it to him I mean as long as you frame it correctly.”

Listening distantly, Cliffjumper picked at the scraggy metal of the cubicle wall. It was built of good material, but it was old and the seam edges were beginning to rust.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Thank you, that would be nice.”

Assuming their conversation had run its course, Blurr turned back to his work. Still, Cliffjumper lingered.

“You two should be more careful. If I know, it’s only a matter of time until everyone else does.”

Somewhat drowned out by the noise of his zealous typing, Blurr opened his vents and exhaled a long jet of hot air.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Cliffjumper flattened his lips and shrugged dismissively, leaving Blurr just as he’d found him.

000

Longarm slipped into his apartment quietly and quickly, but his smile was so radiant that it outshone the obviousness of his need for secrecy. Side stepping behind him, Blurr keyed in the lock code on his door, tested it, and keyed it in again to be sure, not taking his optics off his guest once. It was far from the first time he had had his superior over after hours, but he still found himself gripped by the same fluttering of nerves that he had been the very first off cycle they’d met up. ever complacent, Longarm simply looked around the front room mildly, masking what must have been second-hand embarrassment at Blurr’s awkward urgency, and Blurr barely resisted testing the keypad a third time because he was just so _anxious._

 “All the windows have already been dimmed so you don’t need to worry about walking anywhere in the flat, anywhere at all.”

Warm, heavy hands pet down his shoulder, loosely gripping his upper arms.

“Blurr, my dear,” Longarm pursed his lips, amused, “relax.”

Sucking in his breath, Blurr shuttered his optics, trying to cool down. It was not an easy task.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, hands fluttering together like unsteady insects, “things have just been so…”

Longarm pulled him down into a warm kiss, lips cold and solid enough to ground his processor for the time they were connected. His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on the Blurr’s arms, and he felt himself nearly collapsing into their touch. He pressed his hands up between them, tentatively gripping Longarm’s broad chest. When they parted, he kept his optics offline, hunching down to press his faceplates into a waiting shoulder.

“I’m so glad you could come over. I, I really needed to see you.”

They stood together in silence, swaying slightly, caught up in a gentle breeze of dissipating tension. The moment almost stretched on too long, and Blurr began to quiver, kinetic energy building inert in his system. He pulled away from Longarm’s comforting presence a little too quickly, knocking his hands away and then grabbing them to immediately apologize. But Longarm understood.

He had spent nearly the entire three cycles between his getting off shift and Longarm’s arrival preparing. It wasn’t that there was actually much to do, really, so much as it was about doing it in a way that was worthy of Longarm’s appraisal. His boss would have been pleased no matter what state he found the flat in, but it was important to Blurr that an effort was made.

 He moved all the furniture, vacuuming every surface, every wall, until you couldn’t find a particle of rust or dust with an electron holography microscope. Then he moved them all back, and fourth, until they were in a configuration that made them appear merely lived in and not the true product of thrifting that they were. He was gelling some medium grade energon, which required more wait than work, but he had to rush to the preparation counter at his dispenser bar every few kliks to ensure it was coagulating properly. Longarm had liked it the last time he had made it, and he needed to make it the exact same way, if not better, because the very idea of inviting his love into his home and then forcing him to refuel on some mediocre sludge was enough to make him light headed.

Then there was the engex, which he didn’t have to treat at all, but was best served at a particular temperature that he was desperately trying to perfect. The issue here being, of course, that everyone’s tastes varied and he couldn’t recall whether Longarm preferred 303K or 302.05K. Eventually he settled on preparing a bottle of each, hoping his eagerness did not show as easily as he felt it did. This evening, he knew, would be one of the good ones. He would not embarrass himself as he had before, or at least as he assumed he had, because the mornings after he didn’t quite remembered what had transpired, which was never a good thing, and Longarm was not particularly forthcoming although he never seemed at all displeased.  He showered, twice, noticing only too late several small dents on the peak of his hip but he couldn’t find his buffer and then the door chime was ringing-

“This looks lovely.”

Longarm pressed a hand to his back, guiding him to the table where their dinner had already been set, kliks before, cooling slowly. He spoke with genuine delight, albeit subdued by his usual brand of placid self-management. Blurr scrambled over to the meal, hesitating too long in indecision over whether or not it would be appropriate to pull out Longarm’s seat for him and then simply deciding to divide the platter up.

“I forgot to crystalize some energon, for the topping, because earlier I couldn’t remember which brand you preferred from last time or if maybe there was one you would like better that we haven’t tried before,” Blurr rambled, delicately placing a half of the circular loaf on each of their plates. Shoulder’s drooping, Longarm sighed with frustrated affection.

“Blurr.”

Sitting down heavily, Blurr placed both hands on the table and shook.

“…I haven’t been recharging.”

“I know.”

Longarm’s fingers threaded with his.

“It will get better.”

Despite himself, Blurr smiled.

They ate, and it was good. They drank through one bottle of engex, and then Longarm reached back into the storage tank and retrieved the other. He was a little tipsy by then, tapping his toe plate against Blurr’s, optics bright and heavy lidded. Blurr could not manage to slow his filtration system down enough to overcharge at this pace, with this quantity of fuel, but he was happy, managing to relax just enough to allow himself to be.

“…he did not realize, though, that I had already disconnected the uplink cable ten kliks before he’d arrived!”

He sipped his cube with minor difficulty, lips spreading into a shy grin as Longarm spoke. How handsome he was. Inspired by Longarm’s semi-inebriated state, he slid one of his considerably longer legs up his partner’s thick thigh, stopping just short of his crotch. He tried to hide his smile in his drink, feeling oddly naughty. Longarm’s reaction was to reach down and grab his boot, holding fast when Blurr tried to jerk away in surprise.

“My, you _are_ being quite bold.”

His fingers slid into the edges of his wheel well, squeezing the soft rubber. Blurr’s vocalizer hitched and he gripped the edges of his seat.

“Oh, sir!”

 “I thought you looked a little charged.”

One hand danced up the back of his leg until it met the black protoform mesh of his calf, massaging gently. Blurr watched it dully for a moment, tongue peeking between his dental grill as he tried to process Longarm’s words.

“I- I’m not,” he said, but even as he did so he realized he was, in fact, somewhat affected by the drink. How, he could not imagine, but he felt heavy and warm and his processor was stuttering in its attempts to function at normal speeds.

 “I think you are,” Longarm crooned, tickling his tire.

The lights shifted and turned rapidly. Blurr had to lean forward and catch himself against the table edge, pulling his foot away as a wave of disorientation washed over him. It was happening so fast, unnaturally fast. It was as if Longarm’s insinuation had made it so.

“But,” Blurr gasped, optics wide and milky, “but I only had, we only had, two bottles, that’s not even enough to make, to get one bot overcharged, not this grade level, I, I-!”

Longarm was at his side in an instant, catching him as he slid from his seat. He smiled widely, almost a laugh, too intoxicated to recognize Blurr’s mounting distress. Cold lips pressed sloppily against his audio receptor.

“Come to the berth with me.”

Blurr clung to him, gasping as the floor seemed to fall out from under him.

“L-Longarm!”

He was being carried. The lights overhead dimmed and shut off as they swept by, darkening the whole apartment. The dishes had been left out, dirty. He needed to go back and clean them before they could make love, but every time he tried to speak Longarm’s mouth descended upon his own and he would forget. His optics were so bright and sweet, reflecting on the glossy paint of the hallway. Even the red orb on his forehead seemed to glow in this light, like a rare ore.

When they reached his room, it was so dark. Blurr could not remember if it had been dark before they’d finished eating. He had been so engrossed in feeling.

“It’s happening again,” he tried to say, but Longarm was lowering him onto the berth pad already, and when he pulled back he seemed to sink away into the darkness. Processor swimming, Blurr shook his head from side to side, trying to clear his vision. He raised a hand to wipe at the condensation he felt forming on his face and was shocked by its size.

“Blurr, Blurr,” Longarm hummed from somewhere above him.

“You are so beautiful, Blurr.”

Unable to find his optics in the dark, Blurr tried to sit up on his elbows, slipping, failing, feeling that it was of the utmost importance he was located.

“Longarm, sir, something’s…wrong, I’m so, I don’t know what’s, I’m seeing things,” he cut off, too tired to continue. Something red on the ceiling was glowing brightly, though he had to recalibrate his optics several times to recognize that it wasn’t just a spot of color creeping over his already compromised visual feed.

“Nothing is wrong, my dear,” soothed Longarm, and something slid coldly down Blurr’s side, “I am here.”

He tried to see what it was, but he couldn’t quite lift his head. Out from above descended Longarm, a mass of blackness defined only by the red light above him. Only it wasn’t quite above him, because Longarm had shifted, lengthened, enormous in the tiny room. He framed himself across the berth with two hands the size of anti-thermal cannons.

The sight was not unfamiliar to him. Although he knew that he was drunk or dreaming or drugged, he recognized he elongated, sharpened mass of his partner from every fevered snippet of rest he’d had for the past stellar cycle now. A surge of emotions rushed through him and he reached for the specter, needing something tangible to hold him steady.

“Longarm, Longarm.”

“Hush.”

The red orb, an oversized optic, smoothly lowered over him, embedded neatly in clean, faceless helm. Claws big enough to pierce straight through him five times over traced his body, pleasurable and horrible. The room span faster and faster. Longarm nuzzled his neck and shoulder, and Blurr wrapped his arms around his newly thickened neck to keep him there, afraid he would fall away if he let go.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Blurr whispered, urgent, optics rolling around in their sockets, “I’m scared.”

Longarm’s servos kneaded his interface panel.

“I am here. You are safe.”

Blurr gasped, head lolling back into the berth pad. Longarm was all around him, terrifying and wrong and wonderful and perfect. He willingly lifted his hips, hardly aware of his interface panel retracting. Humming into his throat, Longarm caressed him gently, long claws stroking up the center of his valve in strong, calculated motions. They were so incredibly cold, and he jumped with each touch, wanting and fearing simultaneously.

He remained clinging to Longarm’s neck, which was a good thing because when one claw slowly began to push its way inside, his sensors reeled with an intense vertigo. Loud colors marred his vision, which he found both entrancing and nauseating. Longarm seemed to melt over him, so cold and yet he was burning up.

The claws pushed in harder and deeper, rocking Blurr back and forth. The head at his shoulder began to pull away and Blurr reached for it, floundering.

“You love me, do you not?”

Bucking his hips up, Blurr’s ventilations stalled and caught in his throat. Longarm swiped a second claw over his valve top, petting the underside of his spike and his external node.

“Luh-Lon-uha-!”

His thoughts could not arrange themselves coherently. Seeming to move of their own accord, his hands wriggled across his own breast, his throat, every touch amplified beyond his current level of comprehension.

“Do you love me, Blurr?”

The second claw worked his external node vigorously and he bowed back, overload seeming to bloom out of nowhere. Longarm’s other hand swooped down and held him as he shook violently, a tinny wail wrenching its way from his vocalizer.

Heat closed in all around him, oppressive as it was arousing. Longarm did not pull away from him completely, claw no longer thrusting but still inside him, stirring gently. It was big, at least the size of Longarm’s spike, under normal conditions, and while he was used to the stretch, his over sensitized nodes were blown by the intensity of it. Lost to the world, Blurr moaned pitifully.

“Say it for me.”

The distinctive weight of his boss’s spike fell against his leg. The claws removed themselves and he clamped his thighs together, half trying to keep them there and half to fill the void they left. Inadvertently this resulted in his catching Longarm’s spike between them. Everything about this distorted vision of his partner was cold except this, sharp and hot and violent. His valve clenched hard at the feeling, and he squirmed, trying to maneuver his hips into a better position to rub against it. Longarm made no move to assist him, only leaning closer.

“I will give you what you want, but you must oblige me first.”

It took Blurr several nano-kliks to understand him. When he did, though, his reaction was pure and immediate. He brought his unsteady hands up and cupped the angular plating of Longarm’s face.

“Lo-Longarm I, I wan- I love you, I do, I really do I…” he stumbled over his words, squinting to see. His spark swirled faster and faster, like the walls around them, contracting and relaxing in an unsteady staccato. It was all that was needed though, and Longarm pushed in between his thighs, spike head crushing against the swollen lips of his valve.

In dark pixilated patches, Blurr remembered this happening before. The optic above him, the claws behind him, the painful burn of his valve spreading to accommodate the impossibly wide girth of that spike. Red light filled his circuitry to the brim. Longarm, a monster.

“I love you, I love you, I lo-love you so much-!”

He was on the verge of hysteria, but he meant every word. Longarm’s deep voice rumbled through his entire frame, answering with only a soft purr as he eased his spike inside. It wouldn’t fit completely, probably never could, but he managed to take a good portion of it, deep enough that Blurr felt the sensation in every sensory node in his frame. Completely stuffed, he was paralyzed by the shock, inhaling sharp, short whines.

“Your performance improves each and every time, my dear.”

The sentiment was vocalized so softly that Blurr could not rightfully tell if it was spoken at all. Aching, Blurr rolled his hips upwards, hoping that his actions would be accepted as the encouraging submission he meant them to be. Longarm hovered above him, watching.

“I knew it, I knew, I knew it, this has happened be-before.”

“Yes,” said Longarm, pulling out, “it has.”

Blurr’s back struts bent, the first thrust sending him howling, clinging blindly to the berth pad. With mounting speed, Longarm continued, still careful, still testing the waters, but with confident, strong movements, lifting Blurr’s hips over his thighs with ease. Unable to control himself, Blurr flailed, kicking and jerking until Longarm enveloped his chest with a single wide hand, giving him something to focus his intensity on. He hugged a single claw to himself like a lifeline.

Another overload was approaching fast, systems too amped up by the fear and confusion and passion, already accelerated by his timing peculiarities. It surprised neither of them when it arrived, nor the smaller one behind it, riding the wave of raw electricity burning its way out. Despite being forced so wide it could no longer even clench, Blurr’s valve lubricated liberally, pouring down his aft to pool beneath them. His spike bounced on his distended stomach, occasionally visited with a gentle swipe by one of Longarm’s less occupied claws.

He was sure he must be screaming, but his audio receptors were filled with static and rang loudly every time a particularly brutal thrust propelled him into the berth. The only sound he could make out clearly was the small, soft hums, almost gasps, Longarm emitted. He was usually repressed during interface, but the quiet breathy noises were normal, and sweet; a reminder of his true, gentle demeanor behind this distortion. Even as charge continued to engorge Blurr’s spark, it managed to shine bright with affection, and he grasped the hand holding him a little tighter.

“Blurr,” whispered Longarm, and everything exploded with heat. Longarm’s spike throbbed, and Blurr felt it, acutely, right before it discharged inside him. Their hips were brought together, as close as they could be, and held that way, giving Blurr nowhere to go as he was filled and then overfilled with transfluid. It gushed out between them, drooling hot down his spinal line, his own spike spurting in release. He could not count the amount of overloads he rocked through, calipers shrieking, though not nearly loud enough to mirror his own, desperate to close him off before the extensive flood inside him caused real damage and nearly snapping with the effort.

When Blurr finally came down, it was slow and painful. Longarm removed himself, moving only so far away but completely out of Blurr’s failing vision. Little aftershocks burned up his plating, making him twitch and moan long after his final overload had passed through him. His valve…there was no real way for him to describe the feeling there. It was all too much. His systems began shutting down, one by one, weakly attempting to update him on his physical condition before his internal messaging network powered off completely.

Longarm was murmuring to him. He could not understand what was being said, but his voice sent warm thrums through Blurr’s laser core as he succumbed to recharge.

000

His alarm went off. Blurr rebooted instantaneously, shooting upright in his berth.

“Dear…?”

Longarm wearily unwound his arms from Blurr’s waist, the sudden motion having pulled them uncomfortably. His optics were bleary and a little dim, a clear sign of having burnt a few circuits out. His helm would probably be pounding all cycle.

“Oh, I, I’m just,” but Blurr could not exactly explain what he was doing. The berth was a mess, not overly so, but it was going to be a dent in the aft to clean. Pinching his nasal ridge, he shuttered his optics, feeling more rested than he had in a long while but unusually uneasy about it. Trying to check his internal chronometer, he ran into several small patches of fuzzy code, cluttering his processor and confusing the readout.

“When does our shift start?”

He lay back down and Longarm immediately pulled him close again, pressing his face to Blurr’s breast and smiling warmly.

“Nearly a megacycle. Do not stress yourself.”

  Blurr stared up at the ceiling.

“What happened last night?”

“Mmm,” Longarm shifted against him, clearly still on the edge of recharge, “you and I got very overcharged, and participated in some very good interface.”

Still tired, Blurr allowed his optics to dim, wrapping an arm around Longarm’s broad shoulders. He wanted to move closer, even more than this, to be completely enveloped by Longarm’s frame. In spite of his exhaustion, there was a base level of fear in his systems. Longarm pressed a soft kiss to his chest.

“I,” Blurr shifted his thighs, “my valve really hurts.”

“Does it?”

Longarm seemed relatively underwhelmed. He pet Blurr’s stomach as if to apologize.

“Yeah it, it really does, I mean, more than usual.”

That seemed to get his attention. Finally on lining his optics, Longarm pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at Blurr with concern.

“Well I, I used my whole hand in that way that you like,” he said, tentative, “did I damage you?”

Already feeling a little guilty for bringing it up, Blurr was tempted to just drop the matter there.

“No, I mean, I’m not getting any warning messages or anything like that I don’t think it’s anything that can’t be fixed by internal repairs but it’s just unusually sore and I…” he trailed off, picking at the mat.

Longarm did not prompt him to continue, but he brought a soft hand up to cup Blurr’s cheek affectionately.

“I apologize. It is difficult to remember caution when you are compromised.”

That prompted a soft snort from Blurr.

“We must have been, weren’t we?” he shifted again, full awareness of how disgustingly filthy he was beginning to set in.

“I don’t remember anything.”

Recognizing and mirroring his discomfort, Longarm pulled away, assessing the state of the room.

“I barely do myself, but I suspect we enjoyed ourselves.”

Working together, they removed the berth pad and carried it to the wash rack. It wasn’t particularly heavy, but Blurr was limping rather badly and it was cumbersome. When they had rid themselves of the burden, he supported himself against Longarm and silently enjoyed the spray of solvents on his plating. The nerves he had felt earlier were not completely gone, but the lingering clean feeling of discharged energy in his circuits helped his mind clear.

Beyond that, his hard drive felt significantly lighter, to good sign that his defragmentation cycle had pulled through after all.

“We should find a way to meet like this more often.” Longarm rubbed a hand up and down his back, not instigating anything, simply appreciating.

“Yeah,” said Blurr, shuttering his optics, “I know I can be a little neurotic about it at times, and by ‘a little’ I mean ‘a lot’ and by ‘at times’ I mean ‘always’, but it’s, it’s so good to be with you, where I can really just, not to use a cliché, be myself.”

Longarm’s hand paused on his lower back, and he smiled surreptitiously.

“I can truthfully say that I share the sentiment.”

Blurr sighed a long sigh, tension ebbing. He leaned his head into Longarm’s shoulder and managed a genuine smile.


End file.
